


Into that Good Night

by DiaryofaMadTheaterMajor



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Cancer, Character Death, F/M, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-25
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 02:44:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 6,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/856855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiaryofaMadTheaterMajor/pseuds/DiaryofaMadTheaterMajor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jehan is diagnosed with cancer. A sequel to Heal These Bones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 6

**Author's Note:**

> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ve81_Zc5oCU
> 
> Listened to this while writing it.

            Two months ago, Jehan found out that he was dying from an advanced form of leukemia. The doctor had told Jehan that without treatment he had only six months to live but with treatment his life may be prolonged a bit longer but not too longer. Jehan underwent chemotherapy and he felt worse that he ever had before. He could barely stomach anything he ate or drink, and the radiation weakened him to the point where he couldn’t move in bed.

            He hated it, he couldn’t cuddle with Courfeyrac and it pained him to see his boyfriend so scared. Courfeyrac was still in love with Jehan, he’d never let anything like cancer separate them even though they knew that in less than a year, it would. Whenever Jehan found the strength to get up and sit on the couch with him, his eyes would still light up. Jehan managed a weak smile and cuddled close to him.

            Now, he was a bit stronger, the doctors said that the chemo was shrinking some of the cancer cells but to not get his hopes up too much. Jehan, Courfeyrac and the rest of the Amis took that news well. Tensions lifted off of all of their shoulders. Bahorel, and Enjolras seemed the happiest that their poet was going to be better. Things were slowly shifting back to normal.

            But nothing lasts forever and as summer shifted to fall, Death made its slow and eventual crawl back into the lives of the Amis.


	2. 5

Bahorel stopped the car outside of the hospital, Jehan sat in the passenger seat. “Thanks for driving me. Courf was too busy with work.” Jehan said a small smile on his face.

            “No problem buddy.” He patted Jehan’s back with his large hand. “Want me to go in with you?”

            “Nah. It’s fine. Why do you still need to go to these? I thought you were better.” Bahorel asked.

            “I’m in remission and they just need me to go in every now and then—“ Jehan paused and took a deep breath, “—just in case.” He sighed.

            Jehan was gaining back the weight he had lost, his cheekbones were still prominent on his face, his cheeks hollow and bright blue eyes dulled and sunken in. He was able to walk by himself but someone was with him usually just in case. His auburn hair had thinned because of the chemotherapy. He still braided his hair and put flowers in it though.

            Bahorel nodded, and got out of the car and opened the passenger door. He helped Jehan out and walked him to the front of the hospital. “Got it from here?” He asked. Jehan nodded and went into the waiting room.

            Bahorel walked back to the car and once the door was shut he rolled up the windows and screamed. He banged his fists against the steering wheel and the dashboard. He grabbed his hair and kept screaming until his throat hurt. A tear fell down from his face and he rested his forehead against the steering wheel, panting. “Dammit.” He growled.

            He remembered the day he first met Jehan. It was their freshman year, and Bahorel was in the gym along with Grantaire and several others when the door opened and Jehan stepped into the room. At first, Bahorel couldn’t believe what he saw, Jehan’s auburn hair was in a braid with white daisies in a chain around his head. He was wearing a blue vest with a pink button down shirt underneath, a red bowtie and bright yellow pants. His shoes were white with what looked like words written on them. He set down his messenger bag and walked towards them.

            “Holy shit, check out this guy.” Grantaire muttered to Bahorel.

            “Hey, the poetry club is in the other building.” Bahorel said.

            “I know that, I just came from their meeting. Is this boxing?” Jehan asked.

            “Yeah. Boxing and kickboxing.”

            “Cool. Who do I spar with?”

            The group laughed, Bahorel crossed his arms across his chest. “I don’t think you can handle it. You’d probably break a nail or something. You wouldn’t want to get your pretty clothes all sweaty and dirty.”

            Jehan, with the same smile on his face, asked again. “Who am I sparring with?”

            Babet stepped forward, “I’ll do it.” He pulled on the gloves, Bahorel tossed Jehan his own gloves. Jehan pulled off his daisy chain and set it neatly on the ground. They got into a fighting stance, and before Babet could even move, Jehan swung a right hook. Jehan was quick on his feet, and managed to hit Babet on his ear, disorienting him. Jehan punched him in the gut, and then in the jaw. Babet hit the ground with a crash.

            Babet groaned, and Jehan smiled, took off the gloves and tossed them to Bahorel. He put his chain back on, and turned around. Babet stood up and followed Jehan, he raised a gloved fist and Jehan turned around blocked the punch and hit Babet in the nose. He twisted Babet’s arm and kicked him to the ground. “Never go for a fighter whose back is turned. It’s a shitty thing to do.” Jehan said a pleasant smile on his face.

            After that, Bahorel searched the campus for Jehan with no success. A few days later he finally found the poet sitting underneath a tree, smoking a cigarette and writing in a journal. “Hey. Great job the other day.”

            “I didn’t do it to impress you.” Jehan took a drag from his cigarette and exhaled the smoke. “I did it to prove a point. You think that because I dress like this, I can’t defend myself or I’m some weakling.” Jehan said glaring at Bahorel.

            “I wasn’t thinking that.”

            Jehan scoffed, “I saw your face when I walked in there. You made the assumption that everyone’s made about me, ‘Oh he can’t fight. He likes poetry and flowers.’ Well I can make assumptions too, ‘Look here’s a guy whose been hit so many times in the head that he probably doesn’t have brain cell left.’” Jehan took another drag, stood up, exhaled the smoke and walked away.

            They didn’t see each other until that Friday when Bahorel walked into the backroom of the Musain for one of Enjolras’ meetings and he saw the poet sitting next to Courfeyrac.

            Their friendship didn’t really start until Bahorel called Jehan in desperation after Babet quit their boxing team. Jehan begrudignly showed up and managed to get them to third place. He and the poet bonded over drinks, turns out Jehan could handle his liquor pretty well. Hammered, they became friends quickly and have became inseparable.

            They had spent the last three years laughing, drinking and suffering through Enjolras’ speeches in the hot back room of the Musain. It killed Bahorel on the inside when Jehan, two months earlier, announcing that he had cancer. That night, he and Feuilly sobbed on their couch. It was hard for them to take in that Jehan would soon not be with them anymore.

           

            Jehan sat patiently in the chair in the doctor’s office. “So, what’s the prognosis?” Jehan asked.

            “The cells have shrunk.”

            “So, will they come back? Am I good? Is it gone?” Hope hammered in the poet’s heart.

            “I can’t give you a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer. The cells have shrunk but there’s no promise that they won’t come back.”  The words hung in the room, Jehan sighed and nodded. “I’m sorry.”

            Jehan shrugged and pulled his jacket back on. Jehan made his way down the elevator and back to the car, trying not to cry as he got into Bahorel’s car.  It was quiet as Bahorel started the car and they drove back to Jehan’s apartment. “Thank you.” Jehan said.

            Bahorel hugged Jehan to his chest, “You’re welcome. Call me if you need anything.”

            Jehan nodded and kissed Bahorel on the cheek and got out of the car. 


	3. 4.5

“...and with this, I’m sure the senators will see the crowd and that’s when Combeferre and I will deliver the petition to them.” Enjolras concluded.

            “What if they don’t take the petition? What will we do then?” Courfeyrac asked.

            “They will hear the voice of the crowd and they will have no choice. The voice of the hundreds will roar over the voice of a handful of senators.” Enjolras said.

            “They’ve been fighting to legalize gay marriage for years. What if this is just another petition that they throw away?” Grantaire asked.

            “They won’t. This petition had over three thousand signatures.” Enjolras said. Grantaire scoffed and took a drink from his bottle, “This issue has been in discussion in the House for months, this petition is the push they need. If they hear the voice of the three thousand people who support this bill then they will pass it.” Enjolras explained.

            “I like it.” Jehan said softly from the end of the table.

            The corner of Enjolras’ mouth twitched, “Thank you Jehan. How are you?”

            Jehan shrugged, “Better.”

            Enjolras nodded, Grantaire took a longer drink from his wine bottle.

            “I think we can call it a night.” Enjolras said.

            The Amis scooted back in their chairs, and said goodbye to each other and Jehan. Courfeyrac helped Jehan stand up. The room cleared except for Enjolras, Courfeyrac, Joly, Combeferre and Jehan. Grantaire, without a word, left the room before Enjolras could stop him.

            They sat in silence, “What did the doctor say?” Combeferre asked.

            “To not get my hopes up but to not let them down.” Jehan repeated.

            Combeferre nodded,  “You’re going to pull through this. I know it.” Joly said a smile of his face. His eyes betrayed him; Jehan thanked him anyway and returned the smile.

            Courfeyrac and Jehan walked out of the café side by side, a few steps later Courfeyrac fell behind. Jehan turned around and Courfeyrac had sunken into a squat and was covering his face with his hands. Jehan steadied himself and walked towards his boyfriend. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Jehan.” Courfeyrac said between heaving sobs.

            “For what? You haven’t done anything wrong.” Jehan said softly.

            “I haven’t been there for you. I should be, I-It’s just hard. I promise that I’m going to be there.”

            “Courf, you’ve driven me to every appointment, waited through each chemotherapy session. You’ve been there for me, I don’t know where you’re getting this idea from.”

            “I’ve been there physically but not emotionally.” Courfeyrac said.

            “I’m not angry. I understand where you come from because I’m there with you. It’s so hard to try to stay positive or feel anything anymore without it seeming false. I love you. That I know is always there. I love you Courfeyrac for being here with me. I owe you so much.”

            “I love you too. You owe me nothing. You’d do the same for me. “

            Courfeyrac nodded and wiped his eyes, “Come on. Let’s go back to our place, the bed is calling my name.”

            That night, Jehan managed to cuddle next to Courfeyrac and fell asleep wrapped in his arms.


	4. 3.5

            Enjolras sat in the Musain, a cup of coffee was on the table in front of him. Grantaire sat down across from him, his sketchbook tucked underneath his arm. He placed his cup of coffee down on the table. Enjolras looked down at his black coffee, his fingers trembling as he raised the ceramic mug to his lips. “You know you’re going to have to visit him. You can’t keep making excuses, Enjolras.” Grantaire said pressing his hand against Enjolras’. He saw the pain and he understood how his boyfriend was feeling. Watching someone you love die was not easy, especially when you both knew that there was nothing to be done. 

            “I know. It’s just scary for me.”

            “Scary? You’ve faced a crowd of armed policemen and you’re afraid to visit a friend?”

            “He’s my best friend and seeing him laying there with all of those wires and tubes coming out of him...it’s too much.”

            “He needs you there. He’s been asking for you all week. We’re running out of valid excuses and Jehan isn’t stupid.” Grantaire opened his sketchbook and turned the pages. He turned the sketchbook around to show Enjolras the sketch, it was of Jehan laying in the bed. Enjolras’ heart clenched in his chest, he squeezed his eyes shut. “See him, please.” Grantaire said.

            After Enjolras swallowed the last drop of his coffee, he drove to the hospital. Grantaire rode back to their apartment via his bike. He parked in the parking lot, and drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. He got out of the car and walked into the hospital, his heart pounding in his chest.

            He rode the elevator to the third floor and each step he took echoed in the hallway as we walked towards Jehan’s room. He walked into the doorway and he saw Marius sitting by Jehan’s bed, a book was in Marius’ lap. Jehan was smiling as Marius read to him. “What’re you reading?” Enjolras asked.

            Jehan’s eyes lit up when he saw the blonde come into the room, “The Fault In Our Stars.” Marius said.

            “That’s...a bit inappropriate don’t you think?” Enjolras asked.

            Jehan shook his head, “I love this book. He’s reading it to me in English.”

            “Why English?”

            “I want to learn another language.” Marius shrugged.

            “Don’t you know two already?”

            “Well, French, German, Latin and now English...very rough English.” Marius said.

            “There’s a chair right—“ Jehan yelped as he lifted up his arm.

            “Are you alright?” Marius asked concerned.

            “Yeah, just...my arm is really brusied from the IV.” Jehan sighed.

            “How’re you feeling?” Enjolras asked.

            “Not good. They took blood today and they’re going to have to results soon. I’m really scared.”

            “You’re going to be fine, Jehan.” Marius said, a comforting smile on his face.

            “Where’s Cosette?” Enjolras asked not seeing the blonde girl who Marius usually hung around.

            “She’s getting her nails done, she needed a few hours to herself.” Marius said.

            Enjolras nodded and sat down in the chair across from Jehan’s bed. Marius continued reading. After an hour, Marius shut the book and looked at the poet who had fallen asleep. “I’m going to go. Tell Jehan that I’ll be back tomorrow.” Marius said in a hushed voice. Enjolras nodded and Marius left the room.

            Enjolras moved into Marius’ seat and scooted closer to Jehan. He took the poet’s hand into his and gently kissed it. It hurt him to see his friend wasting away, he wished this would all be over, that they’d all be sitting in the Musain perfectly healthy and content. In Jehan’s hair, a yellow tulip was slowly wilting. Enjolras made a mental note to get Jehan more flowers.

            He heard the scuffing of shoes on the floor next to him, he turned to see Courfeyrac holding a bouquet of lilies. He gently set them down on the table and walked over to the bed. He pressed his lips to Jehan’s, and gave Enjolras a nod. He looked awful, his hair was messed up, dark circles were underneath his eyes. His clothes were wrinkled and stained. Enjolras’ heart squeezed tighter at the sight of his good friend looking so low.

            Enjolras stood up and hugged Courfeyrac. “It’s going to be okay.” He said softly.

            They both went down to the cafeteria, Enjolras got another cup of coffee and Courfeyrac got a chicken salad sandwich.

 

            Jehan’s nap was interrupted by the doctor’s voice, “Good afternoon, Mister Prouvaire.”

            Jehan rubbed his eyes, “Good afternoon.” He saw the manila folder in the doctor’s hand. His stomach dropped and his breath hitched. “So, what’s the news?”

            The doctor sighed and dropped into the chair. “I’m sorry. The chemo was helping for a while but it can only do so much. The cancer has returned and it’s more aggressive than it was before.”

            “Is there anything we can...” He dropped the end of the question, knowing the answer. He nervously swallowed, “How long?”

            “Three to four months.” The doctor said.

            Jehan nodded, the doctor apologized again and stood up. Once the doctor was gone, Jehan broke down. He had four months to live, _at most_. He reminded himself. There was so much I wanted to do, so much I should’ve done. He thought angrily. He had dreamed of going to America, going to Amsterdam, Dublin, Berlin but now that was never going to happen. He was going to spend his last months on earth in a hospital room in Paris.

            He put his head back on the pillow, “Three to four months.” He said out loud staring blankly at the ceiling. 


	5. 2

The Amis found out the next day that Jehan was going to die. Enjolras tried to talk about the petition and the rally but halfway through he stopped and stared ahead. Combeferre knew he was looking at the small garden that Jehan had converted the balcony into the previous summer. The flowers were all wilted and brown, and pretty soon they’d have to be thrown away. Bit by bit, they’d remove any last trace of Jehan’s existence, Enjolras thought bitterly.

            He ended the meeting, and walked home instead of driving. When he got back to the apartment, he brushed his teeth, stripped down to his underwear and climbed into bed. A few minutes later, he heard the door close and Grantaire call his name. Enjolras called him into the bedroom, and Grantaire shut the door behind him.

            He slipped out of his clothes and climbed into bed next to Enjolras who wrapped his arms around him and buried his face against Grantaire’s neck. They both cried that night, Enjolras harder than Grantaire.

 

            Marius sat on the couch, The Fault in Our Stars sitting in his lap. Cosette looked at him in anticipation from the arm chair, a cup of tea in her had. Marius turned the page, his eyes widened “Fuckin’ what! They can’t do that! Augustus and Hazel are supposed to be together forever!” Marius exclaimed.

            Cosette smiled, “Told you. I told you it would get even worse.” She said.

            “This sucks. I’m not finishing it.”

            “No, you have to.”

            “No. I want to read something else.”

            Cosette stood up and walked to the bookshelf, and handed Marius a book. “Looking for Alaska?”

            “Yeah. You’ll love it.”

            Marius set the book down and looked down at Fault in Our Stars. “How’s Jehan doing?” Cosette asked.

            “I haven’t been in to see him. But Joly told me that he’s gotten worse. He can barely lift his arms or head. He just lays there and they shaved his head, I think he’s giving up.” Marius said.

            Cosette shook her head, “Poor Jehan. They can’t put him back into chemo?” She asked.

            “He’s too weak. He’s not eating solid foods anymore, they had to put a feeding tube in him.”

            Cosette covered her mouth and a tear fell from her eye. “Why is this happening to him? Of all people, Jehan doesn’t deserve something like this.” She said.

            Marius nodded, “I know.” He walked over to her and kissed her on the cheek and gently wiped the tear away.

 

            The kettle whistled in the kitchen, Joly stood up and walked into the kitchen. Combeferre had his arm around Courfeyrac whose crying had stopped a minute or so earlier. “Sugar?” Joly asked from the kitchen.   
            Courfeyrac nodded, “He wants sugar.” Combeferre called back.

            Joly came into the room with a mug of steaming tea. He set it down and looked at Courfeyrac who took it into his hands. Joly sat down on the other side of Courfeyrac and gently touched his arm, “Are you okay?” He asked softly.

            Courfeyrac shook his head, “I want Jehan back here. I hate this. I hate seeing him so sick, and so alone. It’s killing me.”

            “He’s not alone, he has all of us.” Joly said.

            “And in two months? Who will he have then? You tell me, Joly.”

            Joly looked at Combeferre who pushed his glasses up, “You have to sleep, how long has it been since you got a good night’s sleep?”

            Courfeyrac shrugged, “A week.”

            “That’s not good. Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

            “But what about my tea?” He stood up not really caring.

            “You can drink it in bed.” Combeferre said leading Coufeyrac to his bedroom. He laid down on the bed and fell asleep before he could get his shoes off.

            Combeferre and Joly left an hour later when they made sure Courfeyrac was asleep.

            “I’m so worried about him. He looks awful.” Joly said as he undressed in their bedroom.

            “This isn’t easy for him. This is the second time in two years that Jehan’s been put in the hospital.” Combeferre said stepping out of his pants. They both remembered the time their freshman year of college when Jehan had been beaten up by Montparnasse.

            Joly pulled on his thin grey sweatpants and climbed into bed, Combeferre put his glasses on his nightstand and shut off the light. For a moment, they were engulfed in darkness and then in silence. “What would you do if I got cancer?” Joly asked.

            “I don’t want to talk about this Joly.”

            “But what if?”

            “I’d be there for you every single day, every doctor’s visit, every chemo session, until you took your last breath. You’re fine, Joly.”

            “I know I am. It’s my damn hypochondria. I’ve had a few freakouts but I know I’m fine. It’s just I would want to know what if.” Joly explained.

            Combeferre turned around to face him, he gently pressed a kiss to the tip of Joly’s nose. “I love you, I’ll always be there for you. Nothing could ever change that.” He scotted closer to Joly and wrapped his arm around him.

 

            Jehan’s eyes opened in the darkness, he could’ve sworn he had seen a light. Suddenly in his peripheral vision he saw a woman in white standing next to the bed. She had beautiful blonde hair and a beautiful face. She gently touched Jehan’s forehead and kissed it. She smiled calmly and Jehan returned the smile weakly. She vanished as quickly as she appeared. 


	6. 3 Weeks

The woman in white appeared to Jehan several more times, and she didn’t speak. She just smiled at him, kissed his forehead and vanished. The Amis would visit Jehan, Courfeyrac surprised the Amis and Jehan by coming to the hospital with his hair shaved off, several days later, Enjolras, Cosette, and Bahorel shaved their hair. Jehan appreciated the gesture but lamented that he won’t be able to braid their hair. Jehan had grown a bit stronger, but not enough to walk around, so he was placed in a wheelchair. Sometimes they would all walk with Jehan and sometimes it would be just Courfeyrac and Jehan.

            They went outside to the koi pond when Jehan would sing softly to the fishes in French. Jehan told Courfeyrac about the woman in white, “It’s Cosette’s mother.” Courfeyrac said.

            “How do you know?”

            “She has pictures of her mother holding her on her Facebook.”

            “What happened to her.”

            “She died when Cosette was three. She had cancer.”

            “Why is she appearing to me? I mean not that she’s unwelcome but I didn’t know her.” Jehan wondered.

            Courfeyrac shrugged, “Maybe she’s here for comfort.” He figured.

            “But I have you for that.” Jehan feebly reached his hand towards Courfeyrac’s. Their hands intertwined, “I love that you shaved your head. It was very sweet of you.” Courfeyrac brought Jehan’s hand up to feel his shaved head.

            “I didn’t want you to feel alone. Oh, and I have something for you.” Courfeyrac reached into his bag and pulled out a book of Dylan Thomas poems, and a flower crown. “I made this last night.” He handed the book to Jehan and placed the flower crown on Jehan’s head.

            “I love it! Courf!” Tears misted the poet’s eyes, “God, it’s so pretty! Promise me that you’ll bury me in a flower crown.” He squeezed Courfeyrac’s hand. Courfeyrac’s face darkened, and he nodded. “I’m sorry. I killed the mood.” Jehan said.

            “No. No, it’s fine.” Courfeyrac tried to smile again but it didn’t reach his eyes. It wouldn’t reach his eyes again for a long time.

            Visiting hours were almost over, and Jehan was wheeled back into his room and helped into his bed.  “Hey, before you go can you read a poem to me?” Jehan asked.

            Courfeyrac smiled, nodded and opened the book of poems. He sat down, cleared his throat and read:

 

            “Do not go gentle into that good night,

              Old age should burn and rave at close of day:

              Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

           

            Though wise men at their end know dark is right,

            Because their words had forked no lightning they

            Do not got gentle into that good night.

 

            Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright

            Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,

            Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

 

            Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,

            And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,

            Do not go gentle into that good night.

 

            Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight

            Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,

            Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

           

            And you, my father, there on the sad height,

            Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.

            Do not go gentle into that good night.

            Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”

 

            He looked up at Jehan who had tears running down his face, “Visiting hours are over.” The nurse said from the doorway.

            Courfeyrac stood up, walked to Jehan and squeezed his hand. He kissed Jehan on the lips, then he leaned towards his ear and gently whispered, “’Rage, rage against the dying of the light’ my darling petal.”

            Jehan nodded, “I love you.”

            “I love you too. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Courfeyrac walked out of the room.

 

            The next morning, Bahorel was the first one to come to Jehan’s room. “Hey little buddy.” He sat down in the chair.  
            “Hey Bahorel.” Normally Jehan would’ve protested against Bahorel’s nickname but on this day he had no strength to. He turned his head and reached for the pitcher of water.

            “I’ll get that.” Bahorel stood up and poured Jehan a cup of water. He handed the cup to Jehan who took it and smiled, “Thanks Bahorel, when’d you get here?”


	7. 2.5 weeks

They all sat in Jehan’s hospital room, all looking at him worriedly. The cause of his memory loss has been the medication. Jehan, for the past two hours, had listened to everyone try to comfort him and squeezed his hand. Something about today was rough for him, he grew angry and suddenly he knew how Grantaire felt. He knew he didn’t have any time left.

            “Maybe, hey, how about we write things down for you.” Marius offered.

            “No. I’m going off the medication.” Jehan growled.

            “You can’t!” Combeferre cried.

            “Yes I can!” Jehan shouted.

            “We’re trying to help you!” Combeferre said.            

            “I don’t want that!” Jehan exclaimed. “I don’t want this fucking medication! I’m sick of this fucking IV! I’m sick of this stupid hospital bed and this stupid TV! I want the Musain! I want to listen to Enjolras talk and listen to Grantaire interrupt him. I want to see Bahorel fight some drunk guy in a bar, and watch Feuilly paint his face red and white for Poland soccer games. I want to hear Marius talk with Bossuet in German. I want to hear you talk about your disease of the week, and you calming him down. I want Courfeyrac. I want to be with him, to cuddle up in his arms, to wake up to the smell of him making breakfast.

            Do you know what it’s like knowing that you’ll never do anything again? How much time you wasted on earth? The stupid fights, and grudges were for nothing? How you glossed over those mornings where you woke up next to him? The smell of his hair, the way he smiles, and his collection of bowties. The smell of his body wash that lingers on him after a shower. The way he burns the bacon but that’s alright because you know he’s proud it.

            To know that you’ll be gone and that there is _nothing_ in the world that you can do to stop it? To know that you should’ve cherished anything? To never have-have realized life while you live it.” Jehan shoved the tray of food off the swinging table and it splattered on the floor.

            “Jehan, please—“ Cosette was close to tears, as was Joly, Courfeyrac, Enjolras and Bahorel.

            “Fuck you! Fuck you Cosette! Fuck you Combeferre! Fuck both of you! Fuck Enjolras! Fuck Grantaire, Eponine, Joly, Marius, Feuilly, Bossuet, Bahorel, and yes, fuck Courfeyrac! Fuck all of you. You don’t know what I’m going through and yet you try to relate but it’s not worth shit! You can put that stop it with that and just accept the fact that I’m going to die and become a pile of dust while you get to live. You will get to wake up in the morning and have breakfast and eat, sleep, dream, talk to friends, kiss your boyfriends and girlfriends. I won’t. I’ll be a rotting corpse—“

            “Stop it! Stop it Jehan!” Grantaire shouted from the corner.

            “Oh look, I’m surprised you can even form a coherent thought!” Jehan shot.

            Grantaire clenched his jaw, “It’s time you stopped insulting everyone.”

            “What’s the matter, the cynic has finally gone soft?” Jehan challenged.

            Grantaire shook his head, “We’re trying to support you. No, we may not know what it’s like to die of cancer, but I know what it’s like to watch someone die of it. My mother died of cancer when I was thirteen, I felt powerless just like you do now. I want to be able to reach inside her and pull out every cancerous cell but I couldn’t. The doctors couldn’t, the radiation couldn’t. She fought hard, she didn’t cuss us out or make us feel horrible. We’ve been here for you for the past six months, and we’ll always be here for you. You can’t forget that. We will never forget you, you will never be just a pile of dust. You’ll be Jean Prouvaire, the boy who put flowers in his hair and kicked ass like it was no one’s business. I want you to breathe. Combeferre offered to help you with this. I understand that you’re afraid, we are too, don’t discount that. We will help you through this, we love you Jehan. We all do. We’ll never stop.”

            Jehan looked at everyone. Cosette had broken down into silent tears and Marius’ arm was around her shoulder. Enjolras stood and put his arm around Grantaire’s shoulder, “I’m sorry, everyone. It’s just—“

            Combeferre held up his hand, “Don’t apologize. Please don’t. We understand.” He said softly.

            Courfeyrac tried to lighten the mood by making a joke, but every halfheartedly laughed at it. Eventually they left and said goodbye to Jehan. Courfeyrac laid down next to him on his bed and put an arm across his chest. “I don’t care if they kick me out. I want to be here with you.” Courfeyrac said.

            Jehan smiled, and he shut his eyes and went to sleep. The next morning he woke up and Courfeyrac was gone. A note on his bedside read, “Bastards kicked me out, I’ll be back later today. Love, Courfeyrac.”


	8. 0

When Jehan woke up on his last day, he knew it was over. There was finality in everything, he ate his last breakfast with a certain relish. When Courfeyrac came to see him, he held his boyfriend to him and held the kiss longer. “I have a surprise for you.” Courfeyrac said.

            “What is it?”

            “They’re letting you out for today, we’re all going to have a picnic and watch the sunset.” Courfeyrac said.

            “That sounds lovely.” Jehan managed a weak smile. The doctors came in and helped Jehan into the wheelchair, an oxygen tank was placed in the back pocket of the wheelchair. Courfeyrac kissed the poet on the lips and they made their way down the hall. They went down the elevator and into the lobby, Jehan was wheeled out into the warm spring afternoon.

            Jehan was helped into the front seat of Courfeyrac’s car, the oxygen tank rested between his legs. Once the wheelchair was in the trunk, Courfeyrac started his car and pulled out of the hospital. Jehan smiled, this would be the last time he ever saw a hospital.

            It had gotten harder for him to breathe, the oxygen tank helped somewhat but not enough. He wanted to scream in pain, but he kept it bottled down. He knew it’d be over soon. They drove for a ten minutes before the road became dirt, and Jehan knew where they were:

 

            _Courfeyrac pulled the car down the dirt road, the headlights were the only source of light, other than the stars and moon above. “What’re we doing here?” Jehan asked._

_“I like coming here, thought you’d like it too.”_

_“It’s so pretty.” Jehan said as Courfeyrac stopped the engine. They got out of the car, the warm summer breeze blew making Jehan’s braid swing off his shoulder. Courfeyrac helped Jehan onto the roof of his car, their hands never separated._

_“I meant to tell you this in the restaurant but I figured I’d tell you now.” Courfeyrac said as they laid down on the hood. “I’m in love with you, Jehan.”_

_Jehan looked at the boy, his brown eyes looked back at Jehan’s green eyes expectantly. “I love you too.” Their lips crushed together. “I love you so much.”_

On the hill, Jehan could see the others. His heart was beating weakly in his chest. Courfeyrac got out of the car and got the wheelchair. Bahorel ran down the hill and helped Jehan out of the car. The two friends smiled warmly at each other. The two chatted happily as Courfeyrac pushed Jehan up the hill; which luckily wasn’t too steep. A large red and white-checkered blanket had been laid out. 

            On the blanket were two baskets. The Amis all sat down on the blanket, and made room for Jehan was opted to sit on the blanket. They all smiled at him, and he was hugged by everyone. Courfeyrac never let go of his hand, “So, Jehan, are you happy to be out of the hospital?” Feuilly asked.

            “So happy.” Jehan said.

            “The sunset is supposed to be lovely.” Joly said.

            Jehan turned his head, the sun was slowly beginning to set. “Courfeyrac?”

            “Yes, my love?”

            “I want to lay in your lap and watch the sunset.” Jehan said.

            “Of course.” Jehan scooted closer to Courfeyrac and he yelped as he slowly laid down. A tear fell from his eye and he placed his head in Courfeyrac’s lap. He turned his head and looked at his friends. Enjolras and Grantaire were sitting next to each other, Enjolras put a grape in Grantaire’s mouth who smiled and kissed the blonde. Marius was wearing a flower crown, as was Cosette. Feuilly was passing out flower crowns, and soon everyone was wearing them. Feuilly’s had red and white roses, Jehan’s had pink carnations.

            The sun began to dip lower, and Jehan had a feeling in his gut that he was leaving soon. His chest began to raise and lower slower. In front of him the woman in white appeared, she walked towards him, a sad smile on her face. She kissed his forehead and then stepped back. She didn’t vanish, she extended her arm. “I love you all, so much.” Jehan said.  Jehan reached forward and took her hand.

            No one moved, Jehan’s chest was no longer moving, his green eyes still open and a tear fell from the eye. Courfeyrac began to cry, and he cradled the body of Jehan in his arms. They all found comfort in each other’s arms, Grantaire eyed the wine bottle but held Enjolras in his arms.

            “You’re Cosette’s mother?” Jehan asked his hand still in head.

            “Yes. My name is Fantine.”

            “Jean Prouvaire.” The poet said.

            She nodded, and turned to the scene with Amis. Jehan turned and he smiled sadly. He walked over to Courfeyrac who was cradling his body. He saw how broken he looked, how sick. Jehan touched the top of his head which had his hair back, including the braid with flowers. He smiled softly, he walked around the group. “I wish I could comfort them.” Jehan said sadly.

            “I know. I wish that every day about my daughter but eventually you realize that they’ll find comfort in each other.” Fantine said placing a hand on Jehan’s shoulder.

            “Where are we going?” Jehan asked.

            “Paradise.” Fantine answered.

            “Can I come back here? Ever?”

            She nodded, “Of course.”

            “May I ask you a question?”

            “Yes.”

            “Why did you appear to me?”

            “My daughter was heart broken after knowing what happened to her mother. She wasn’t happy, until a poet introduced her to Marius. I missed seeing that smile on her face, and he brought it back to her. I’m so proud of her, she’s turned into such a smart and beautiful woman, and it’s because of you.” Fantine said. “I owed you my company on our trip.” She said.

            Jehan knelt beside Courfeyrac, and touched his face. His hand went through Courfeyrac, “I wish I could let them know that I’m fine.” Jehan said.

            Fantine walked over to a small bush of flowers and picked out a pink carnation, Jehan’s favorite flower. She handed Jehan the flower, he placed the flower on Courfeyrac’s lap. Courfeyrac saw the flower, and a small smile appeared on his face as he held up the flower. He kissed the soft petals, “I love you.” He said.

            Jehan turned to Fantine, “I’m ready.” He said.

            She nodded and held out her hand, Jehan took it and they walked off together in the hill vanished as did the Amis.


	9. Ten Years Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue

Courfeyrac parked the car and grabbed the bouquet of pink carnations and got out of the car. He had memorized the place where the grave was and once he walked down the rows he stopped in front of the one he was looking for.

 

                                                JEAN “JEHAN” PROUVAIRE

                                   

                                    Beloved boyfriend, son, poet, activist

 

                                             June 3rd 1992-April 16th 2013

                                    “...it is a far, far better rest that I go to

                                    than I have ever know.” –Charles Dickens

 

            Courfeyrac smiled softly, and set the bouquet down. “Hey, Jehan. I miss you, we all do. I thought I should bring you news. We had a party last night, Grantaire’s been sober for ten years now which has surprised us all. Um, Enjolras and Grantaire got married a few years after you died. It was a beautiful wedding, you would’ve loved it. Feuilly and Bahorel moved to America, but they come back in the summer and tell us stories. I'm in America too, New York City. Joly and Combeferre are now fully licensed doctors. I’m so proud of them.

            Marius and Cosette are married and have a son, they named him Jehan, after you. Let’s see, Eponine and Montparnasse are on and off...still.” He chuckled softly, and held up his left hand, “I got married. He’s a really nice guy, we were in the same show—oh, I forgot, I got that job on Broadway. It’s a beautiful show you would’ve loved it.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the program, “I brought a copy for you, and I signed it so you can fangirl over it with all the other angels. In my bio, I thank you and tell you how much I miss you.” Tears welled up in his eyes, a sob escaped his mouth.

            “I miss you so much, my petal. It was so hard at first, just knowing that you weren’t there anymore. I tried to join you, I sliced my wrists open but Joly got to me in time. I didn’t talk to them for two years, it hurt so much. I tried to get you out of my head but you were everywhere. Everytime I passed a café, I swear I could see you sitting there writing on napkins, or when I pass a flower shop, I keep thinking that you’re wandering the rows smelling every flower.

            I hope you’re well, and that Heaven is beautiful. I love you. Goodbye.” He knelt down and kissed the grave and walked away.

            Courfeyrac joined Jehan in Heaven five years later, he had gotten into a horrible car accident. Jehan helped escort Courfeyrac to Heaven and when they both arrived, Courfeyrac looked how he did at 21 rather than at 36. They kissed, held each other and cried. The poet and the lover were reunited once again.


End file.
